


Head Space

by tmariea (OccasionalArtist)



Series: Triptychs [1]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Lailah is the mom-friend, M/M, Post-Game, but I just take them to be together at all times anyway so there's that, doubts, pre-game, the sormik is only really there if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionalArtist/pseuds/tmariea
Summary: Mikleo gets the worst headaches when he pushes himself too far.  But it's okay, because Sorey is always there to help comfort him.  Until the days come when he is not.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because no power should come without consequences.
> 
> (P.S. – I know POV is a little screwy in the first section. Pardon me, I have no excuse, I’m lazy)

Mikleo had to admit, he’d been showing off, that day by the pond as kids.  He’d wanted Sorey to see all of the new artes he’d been practicing with the other seraphim.  So he put on a show, twirling water around him in ribbons and beads and fantastic shapes.  When he finished, Sorey clapped enthusiastically, and he had trudged out of the water to lay next to him on the shore, totally spent.

“That was so cool!  I want to go play in the water now too.  Are you coming with?”

“No, you go ahead.  I’m really tired.”  Mikleo didn’t think he could move a muscle if his life depended on it.

If Sorey’s life depended on it, now that turned out to be a different story.  He had been watching his friend dive in and out of the water for a while, when he didn’t come back up.  Panic gave him a fresh burst of energy as he plunged back in and quickly spotted Sorey with his legs tangled in the plants at the bottom of the pond.  He was thrashing against them fiercely, with a scared look in his eyes.  Mikleo wasted no time whipping the both of them up onto shore on a column of water, and then making sure to pull out every drop of water that had wound up in Sorey’s lungs.

“Don’t you ever do something that stupid again!” Mikleo yelled once Sorey recovered from coughing, and then sat down hard, his legs giving out beneath him.

Sorey hugged him for a long time, and promised with a serious expression that he would never worry him like that again.  Then he looked close, his face changing to a new kind of serious.  “What about you?  Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just tired.  Now help me up so we can go home.”

The two boys made it halfway back to the village, still soaking and with Mikleo leaning heavily on Sorey, when he collapsed again.  “Mikleo!”

The small seraph curled into a ball on the ground and clutched the sides of his face, with his eyes scrunched tight.  “Oh, my head hurts so bad.  I can feel it in my teeth and my ears and my cheeks.  My stomach hurts too.”

Sorey dropped to the ground next to him and touched their foreheads together to feel for fever.  He vaguely remembered hearing something about seraphim being able to catch colds, but it was rare.  “Somebody please help!  Get Gramps!” He yelled into the trees.  They were close enough to home that someone should hear.

Sure enough, Ed came running, took one look at Sorey hunched over Mikleo with a frightened look on his face, and went for Zenrus.

When Gramps arrived, Sorey backed up a bit to allow him to examine Mikleo, but he kept a hand on his shoulder.  The older seraph fixed him with a hard stare.  “What happened?”

“I was swimming in the lake, and I got caught in all the plants and the bottom, and Mikleo saved me but he fell over like this.  Will he be okay?”  Sorey begged with tears at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Please, can you heal him?”

“That I cannot do.  He’s overexerted himself.  It’s not like knitting together skin and bone; I can’t give him back the energy he has spent.  The only thing for it is to rest.  And in the meantime, he should be in the dark and the quiet.”  And then he gathered Mikleo up himself, showing strength greater than his frame would suggest.

All the way home, Sorey refused to let go of Zenrus’s sleeve.  Once there, and Mikleo settled onto the bed, he switched his attention, kneeling so he could be on eye level and brushing the hair away from Mikleo’s forehead.  It was covered in a light sheen of sweat, but it wasn’t warm with fever.  That meant he was in a lot of pain, and it made Sorey’s heart hurt for him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and then rose to help with what little he could.  Since Ed was the taller seraph, he assisted Sorey in hanging an extra layer of sheets over the already covered windows.  Zenrus left briefly, and returned with a bucket of water.

“You’ll want to wet a cloth and place it over his forehead and eyes.  Make sure to wet it again if it gets too warm.”

Sorey nodded solemnly and did as he was instructed, dipping a rag into the water and ringing it so it wouldn’t drip.  Then he removed Mikleo’s circlet and settled the cloth with the utmost care.  As he did, some of the taut lines in the seraph’s face softened.  They were still there, but not as harsh.

“I’m going to stay just outside if you need anything,” Ed informed them, and the two older seraphim left, closing the door softly behind them.

“Sorey,” Mikleo whimpered, trying to curl even further in on himself now that the adults were gone.  His arms wrapped tight and protectively around his middle.

“Shh, don’t talk.  Gramps said noise is bad for your head,” Sorey whispered, and then clamped his mouth shut when he realized he had been making noise too.  Instead, he checked the cloth over Mikleo’s eyes and forehead to make sure it was still sufficiently cool, even though he had placed it there only a moment ago.  Then he climbed onto the bed and lay down next to him, gathering him up in his arms as best as he could.  Mikleo shuddered a little and grabbed a fistful of Sorey’s shirt in response.

The seraph’s back felt taught under his hands.  Sorey ran his palms lightly down the length of Mikleo’s spine, and then again with more pressure as he gained confidence that he wasn’t causing more pain.  It took a long time, but eventually some of Mikleo’s tension seemed to uncoil, and the little seraph drifted off to sleep.  Sorey changed the cold cloth on his forehead before curling up at his side again, and allowing himself to succumb to the day’s stress and exhaustion himself.

Mikleo woke twice in the night, and once more at midday.  Each time, he was confused as to where he was, why he couldn’t see, and why everything hurt so much.  Sorey wiped away his tears with the cloth on his forehead, and murmured soft answers and assurances while trying to keep his own voice steady.

It was just a bit longer than a day when Mikleo came to for good.  He sat up in bed, the cloth dropping from his forehead and into his hand.  He looked at it with a puzzled expression. 

Sorey, who had been reading on the bed next to him, sat up as well and placed a hand between his shoulder blades, in case he needed the support.  “Do you feel better?” He asked in a tentative whisper.

“Yes, I’m okay.  What happened?”  And then he added, “Wait, hold up, what’s wrong?” as Sorey burst into tears.

“It’s all my fault!” he sobbed.  “I was stupid and got caught in the pond, and you had to save me, and now you’ve been hurting for a whole day.”

Mikleo shifted on the bed so he was facing Sorey and could pull him into an awkward seated hug.  “It’s not your fault.  I remember now that I was showing off first.  If I hadn’t done that, saving you would have been no problem.”

“But…”

“No.  Shush.  It’s not your fault, and I feel okay now.  So stop crying alright?”  Sorey slowly nodded against Mikleo’s shoulder.  “We should probably go tell Gramps that I’m up, then.”

“Okay, yeah, we should,” he said, pulling back to wipe his eyes.

Gramps had let them have it once they made their way up to his house.  But he taught them an important lesson after, about the price to be paid for power.  “Nothing is ever free,” Zenrus told the two boys seated in front of his fireplace.  “You must either pay in the time it takes to master a skill or build your endurance, or your body will extract the price from you.  You would do well to keep that in mind.”

Mikleo did keep it in mind, but nearly losing Sorey to something he had the ability to prevent lit a fire in him like nothing before.  He worked hard in lessons and practiced for hours on his own, pushing himself near his limits over and over again so that he could always protect Sorey, no matter what happened.  Sometimes he overshot those limits.  No matter how much easier it would be to pay in time, even then, he understood that time was one thing which Sorey did not have to give away.  And really, he could deal with the pain.  If it was for Sorey, Mikleo believed he could do anything.

* * *

 

As soon as they split from that first armatization, Mikleo had a really bad feeling about what was going to happen, despite the tickle fights and joy at making up.  By the time Sorey collapsed, he could feel the mugginess creeping at the edges of his head that signaled he was in for another attack.  And yet, he insisted on carrying Sorey back to the inn himself.  No matter the coming pain, he was not willing to give up the chance to hold Sorey right now.  They had fought before, but never over anything quite as important or life-altering as this.  Everything they had ever known had changed at a dizzying rate, but the feeling of Sorey’s solid presence was the same, and that helped Mikleo keep himself calm.

The headache hit, as he had expected it would happen, halfway back to the inn.  It had been building for a while, so at least he was prepared for the moment his head and stomach seemed to constrict in tandem, and Sorey’s weight on his shoulders moved from comforting to painful.  Mikleo had enough experience with these attacks since that first time that he did not collapse, but he did stumble a bit.  Lailah shot him a look when he did, and he wondered if she could feel it through their new bond as prime and sub lord.  If she could, she didn’t comment on it.  He was grateful for this; the noise and lingering malevolence of the city pressed on him from all sides and he doubted he could form a coherent reply at the moment.  It was hard enough just to focus on taking deep breaths to help regulate the pain.

As much as Mikleo still felt some small twinges of resentment that Alisha had been allowed to become a squire with no arguments, he had to admit that her presence had its benefits once they reached the inn.  She made their excuses about the passed-out, supposedly floating Shepherd.  He watched as she did through blurry eyes, half-closed against the light, and added the pangs of invisibility to his current list of problems.

Once they reached the room, he was more than happy to let Sorey slide from his shoulders and onto the mattress.  Then he collapsed next to him, instinctively curling toward Sorey’s side with a small groan.

“Lord Mikleo, are you alright?” Alisha exclaimed in a tone of voice that went straight to the ache behind his ears and at the hinges of his jaw.

“No.  My head hurts, so can you please stay quiet?” Mikleo said.  It came out a bit more waspishly than he had intended, and he felt somewhat bad about it when he saw her clap a hand over her mouth.  He didn’t have the energy to apologize at the moment though.  Instead, he turned to bury his face in Sorey’s shoulder against the light.

Thankfully, Lailah stepped in.  “Mikleo is just tired from forming the contract and armatizing.  Please excuse him,” she whispered.  “Is there anything we can do for you?”

“If you could cover the window and bring a wet cloth.  I will be alright by tomorrow,” he forced himself to reassure.  He didn't want these people whom he didn't know all that well to think him weak, but it was a struggle to sound normal.

As Lailah crossed to the window, he heard Alisha ask in an appropriately low tone, “Lady Lailah, did this happen to you when Sorey became Shepherd?  My sincerest apologies if we did not provide you with proper accommodations and care.”

“No, it’s quite alright,” Lailah replied as she twitched the curtain across the window.  Mercifully, the red glow behind Mikleo’s eyes faded to black.  “I have served a number of Shepherds in the past.  Mikleo is young for a seraph, so he has never experienced anything of the like before.”

“And does this happen to every Shepherd you contract with?”

“Oh!  Don’t forget that we have to get water and a cloth.”  And with that, Lailah ushered Alisha out into the hall.  The door closed softly, and Mikleo was left essentially alone in the silence.

He did his best to relax his face and neck.  He knew from experience that everything would feel worse if he was tense, but it was much harder than anticipated without Sorey to rub his back.  In fact, this was the first time, in his entire life, that Sorey had not been able to help him through an attack.  It threw how different everything was now into sharp relief.  Even though they had made it through their fight, and he had earned the right to stay by Sorey’s side, there were still so many things which had changed.  What other changes were yet to come?  It made Mikleo anxious for the future, which made his head hurt more.

Instead, he curled up tighter and wrapped his arms around Sorey.  He wanted to pull one of Sorey’s arms across his side for the typical weight, but since the Shepherd was on his back, it wasn’t possible.  It was such a small thing, but it made him feel as if perhaps they hadn't managed to close all of new the distance between them after all.

Somewhere along the line, Mikleo fell into a fitful place between sleep and wakefulness.  He roused briefly when he felt a cold, wet cloth placed over his eyes and forehead.  Everything was bleary, and the hands against his temples felt gentle and full of caring.  It eased some of the persistent pain behind his eyes.  “Sorey?” he mumbled slowly, “I had a strange dream that we left home and you became the Shepherd.”

“No, it’s me, Lailah,” said a woman’s voice, and fingers softly smoothed the cloth once more.  “I sent Alisha home, but I’m going to stay close by, so tell me if you need anything else, okay?”

“Okay,” he sighed, and drifted into his foggy half-dreams once more.  As the last light of evening disappeared from beneath the curtain, and the room fell into full darkness, Mikleo dropped into a true sleep, away from the pain, and the uncertainty of what tomorrow would bring.

The next time he woke, the first thing he noticed was that he was no longer in pain.  Somehow, he had gotten lucky and slept through the attack.  Next, before he even opened his eyes (the cloth had slipped away some time in the night), Mikleo could feel arms around his waist and hands pressed against his back.  The hands were still but the thumbs were rubbing slow circles.  This time, he knew it was Sorey.  He breathed out a sigh, and with it the last of the tension from his headache.  There was a small chuckle above his ear and he blinked open his eyes to meet a green pair just visible in the faint light around the edges of the curtain.

Mikleo was confused.  Wasn't Sorey supposed to be out for three days like before?  But his sense of time was always distorted when he woke up from an attack.  Maybe he had slept for three days as well.  It took a few moments, though, for words to work their way from his brain to his mouth.  When they did, it was not any of the things he wanted to ask.  No, instead he said, “Hello,” in a voice that was far more sleepy than he expected.

“Well hello to you too,” Sorey whispered back.  “Are you feeling okay now?”

“Yes, I'm fine.”

“Lailah told me you had an attack.  I'm so sorry I wasn't able to help.”

Mikleo nuzzled into Sorey’s shoulder for a moment in order to collect his thoughts, and so he wouldn't have to meet his eyes.  Instinct told him to just repeat that it was fine.  But he couldn't say that; for all that waking up to Sorey made him feel that things _could_ be alright, he wasn't sure he felt entirely _fine_ with the changes.  Finally, he sighed and said, “It's not your fault.”

“But none of this would have happened if it wasn't for me.”

“Sorey, stop.  I thought we had been through this already.  Becoming a sub lord was my choice.  I wanted to do this.”

“It just makes me feel so helpless to think you could be hurting, or something could happen to you, and I might not be able to do anything about it.”

“We'll have to watch out for each other, just like we've always done, then.”  They were silent for a moment before Mikleo asked his original question: “How long were we out, do you know?”

“Lailah said I was only out for about a day this time.  I woke up maybe an hour before you did.”

“Hmm, that's strange.  Why was it shorter this time, do you think?”

“Not sure.  Maybe that means I'm getting stronger,” Sorey replied, a touch of pride in his voice.

Mikleo poked his side.  “Don't let waking up early go to your head.  You still passed out and I had to carry you back.”

Sorey made an unhappy noise.  “Sorry to be a burden.”

“You've always been trouble.  I'm used to it.”

He laughed lightly.  “I suppose I have.”

Mikleo waited a moment to see if he wanted to say more.  When he didn't, he asked, “Should we get up, then?  I'm sure you're starving.”

Sorey let out a rather shaky breath.  “Nah, let's just stay here for a little while longer.” His arms tightened just the slightest bit.  For all his excitement and bravado, it seemed that he might be somewhat overwhelmed too.

And that made Mikleo feel better, to know that he wasn't the only one with questions and worries about how things had changed and what was still to come.  “Everything will be alright.  We'll figure it all out,” he reassured, and felt Sorey’s nod against the top of his head.  He could almost believe it himself.

* * *

 

Mikleo was exhausted, weary all the way down to his bones.  He was tempted to use his staff for support as he trudged his way back to the town’s small inn, but that would look undignified.  As much as being invisible to most people had been a pain, at moments like this he missed it just a bit.  So, instead, he held himself tall as he walked, and called the resident Lord of the Land twelve kinds of stupid.

Really, what fire seraph accepted a position watching over a town near a river that was known for busting its banks in years with heavy snowmelt?  This was exactly what had happened.  And no matter how good Cornelius was at keeping malevolence out of his domain, he was pretty useless when it came to a natural disaster like a flood.  Mikleo had been exploring nearby ruins when he got word.  As the only master water seraph within at least a week’s travel, he had rushed out to help.  Three full days and nights of holding water away from crops and homes later, followed by one spent healing the injured, all was clear with minimal damages.  The town had wanted to throw a party in his honor, but all Mikleo wanted was _rest_.  Thankfully, it didn't take too much convincing; they were willing to do just about anything he asked right now.

It was a relief to reach the inn and his room, which the innkeeper’s husband, who could see him, had insisted was free.  He fell onto the bed with a heavy sigh; it had been years since he had spent much time in the company of so many others, and it was nearly as exhausting as all of the artes he had performed.  Mikleo let his eyes close.  He had fallen out of the habit of sleeping much in the time of Sorey’s absence, but this might just be an instance which demanded it.  His mind felt muggy and his bones like lead even as he drifted off.

Some time later, he wasn't sure how long, Mikleo woke to a splitting pain in his head and cramps coursing through his core.  This time, it was his turn to call himself twelve kinds of stupid.  This last time he had an attack was decades ago, and he had been so wrapped up in his annoyance and exhaustion from dealing with so many people that he had entirely missed the signs.

He groaned, but that made the pulsing at his temples and the base of his skull worse, and curled in on himself.  The sheets bunched uncomfortably under his side, and snagged his long hair.  By some small miracle, it was nighttime, so light was not an issue, but he felt hot all over, even after discarding the comforter on the bed.

That was something he could help remedy at least.  With blind hands in the dark, Mikleo rummaged in the bag he had let fall at the edge of the bed until he found a scrap of fabric.  This he held against his face, and cast an arte to saturate it with cold water.  He should have expected the side-effects; fresh pain lanced against the insides of his head, feeling as if his brain was trying to push its way out of his skull.  Mikleo whined and let his hand drop heavily to clutch at the front of his shirt.  For a few moments, he concentrated on breathing as deep and slow as possible, until the wave passed and he fell back into the normal aches.

Sleep was elusive after that, but he managed it eventually, awash in the consequences of his choices, and feeling very much alone.

Mikleo woke again in some time which could be early morning, head still tight and the world still swimming about him.  Someone had removed his circlet, and changed the cloth on his forehead.  It was fresh, and cool, and covered his eyes from the light.  In that bleary space between sleep and waking, further fuzzed by pain, there was only one person he could think of who would take care of him like that.  The intervening years vanished like wisps into his memory, and he whispered, “Sorey?”

“Oh, Mikleo,” said a soft, feminine voice.  It hitched just a tiny bit as she spoke.  “I’m sorry, but it’s me, Lailah.  Shepherd Torus and I received word of the flood and came as fast as we could.  When I heard what you had done, I knew it would be bad.”

And just like that, it was as if something inside of him was collapsing all over again, even if it had been a long time since he last felt this way.  He had spent so many years holding himself strong, and calm, and determined to pursue their dream that he had almost forgotten this particular ache.  His head and organs already all hated him, why not his heart too?  Mikleo felt his eyes welling up, and his head constricting almost unbearably as they did.  At first, the tears soaked into the cloth on his forehead.  But then they didn’t.  Gentle fingers brushed them away, even though they trembled against his cheeks.

“Can you try to sleep for me,” Lailah asked softly.  “I’m not going anywhere, okay.  I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

It hurt to nod, but he did it once, slightly.  It was easier to sleep again.  Lailah had tucked a few pillows against his back, and that did help for all that it hurt, slow and deep in his core, just the same.  Eventually, the tears slowed, and the darkness granted him a small bit of oblivion.  Even still, he drifted between sudden and brief stabs of wakefulness, and dreams of sleeping figures or white-covered backs retreating too fast for him to follow.

The light was brighter when Mikleo fully woke again.  The little bit that slipped under the edges of the cloth was harsh against his eyes.  Even still, he could tell that the worst of the attack was over.  With that in mind, he thought he might be okay this time as he lifted a hand to his face and let fresh, cool water collect there.  The drop in temperature was enough now to counteract the squeeze in his brain that followed the use of the arte, so he counted it as a win.

“I could have done that for you,” someone whispered from his right, and Mikleo felt like jumping out of his skin, would have if his limbs didn’t still feel sluggish and sore.  He lifted the corner of the cloth just enough to catch a flash of white and red before he let it drop back down with a damp plop.  Lailah.  Distorted thoughts of her arrival in the night fought their way up to his brain.  This time, there weren’t any tears.  It was easier to keep everything in when he didn’t feel quite so scraped raw.  But Mikleo did take in a deep breath, pressing air past the tightness in his throat and into his constricted lungs.  He let it out again, long and slow.

“How are you doing?” Lailah asked.  She was asking after his physical health, of course, but not only that.

He went for the easy answer, and was pleased to find that speaking did not make things worse. “Not quite out of the woods, but soon.”

“I’m glad.”  And then she was silent.  She waited.  After so many centuries, she was very good at waiting.

“It hurts,” Mikleo finally admitted, even if that was too small of a word.  The pressure weighing down his chest was nothing less than the worst kind of heartbreak.  But it was also one that was eons old, worn smooth around the edges so that it didn’t cut him nearly so much anymore, except for in his worst moments.  In the light of day, with his headache slowly tapering off, he felt okay to say that without breaking apart completely.

Lailah laid a hand on his own, but she was quiet, and in a way Mikleo was glad.  They had already exchanged as many words of comfort as there were stars in the sky, and so to speak wouldn’t seem nearly as sincere as the air of old sorrows that hung between them.  Eventually, she opted to change the subject; they both knew it was not a good idea to linger in that kind of space for too long.  “Would you like something to eat?  It might help restore your strength.”

“Sure.”  Mikleo heard the door open and close, and then he was left alone.  In this time, he decided it would be best to try to put himself to order rather than think.  The light of the room was tolerable when he peeled away the damp cloth, but standing still made the world lurch just a bit.  Nevertheless, he managed to change into clothes that didn’t smell like several days of flood and illness before collapsing into a chair and trying to attack the mess of his hair. 

It was at this point that Lailah returned with a tray.  She set it on the small table beside the bed and said, “Let me.”  Mikleo relinquished his brush and let himself relax under her care.  While it was not the pair of hands he wished for most, it still helped.

Lailah finished her task and tied his hair up neatly before asking, “Would you mind if we stayed with you for a few days?  Torus is wonderfully kind and pure, of course, but he just doesn’t have the same historical background as most Shepherds.  Honestly, it will take him _ages_ to be of use if he doesn’t understand what has led the world and people’s hearts to where they are now.  Maybe even a few _eras_.  And goodness knows I can tell you miss having someone to lecture.”

Lailah’s puns were even more lame than usual, but she was trying to chase away the last bits of heaviness and Mikleo appreciated it.  Just as he understood that this request was for her as much as it was for him.  They both could use the chance to spend time with someone who still felt the place where Sorey was missing.

“That would be okay, but prepare yourselves for a lot of ruins.  There’s a whole cave complex about a mile or two from here.  I had only just started exploring when I was called back.  I’ve heard tales of the most amazing preservation jars used to keep ritual offerings, and there’s no way I’m missing it.”

Lailah giggled, “Now that sounds more like the Mikleo I know.  And hardships are a part of being the Shepherd, so we’ll come whether Torus is interested or not.”

He nodded.  He knew his expression had become excited while talking about what he hoped to find.  But he could feel it slipping again, and he knew Lailah watched as it did.

“He’ll be back soon, I can feel it,” she reassured with a well-practiced smile.

Mikleo wondered.  He wondered how many more ruins he’d explore, how many more times he’d have to work to set this world to rights, how many more attacks he’d weather alone.  By the time Sorey returned, would he even have attacks anymore, or be just like Lailah, who had done it all, and then done it all again?  But he sighed, and said, “Yeah, soon.”  He wondered if he could believe it himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing like a slowly deteriorating refrain in threes to make you cry. (Although I hope that technique doesn't seem like it's trying too hard)


End file.
